Memories We Make
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Just because he wants her to be capable, even when she's distracted. Oh, and it could have something to do with the fact that he can't keep his hands off her. Possibly. Rumple/Regina … again, some more. Shocking, I know. Set before my "Revenge is Sweet" story.


Memories We Make

Summary: Just because he wants her to be capable, even when she's distracted. Oh, and it could have something to do with the fact that he can't keep his hands off her. Possibly. Rumple/Regina … again, some more. Shocking, I know. Set before my "Revenge is Sweet" story.

"Asphodel, wormwood, and …" She glances down at the scroll in her hand, sighing. "Right, wolfsbane …" Regina mutters to herself, and goes to reach for the latest ingredient. Behind her, Rumplestiltskin is spinning at his wheel.

Earlier in their lessons, he might have been standing over her shoulder, making sure she didn't botch the brewing of the potion (there had been particularly disastrous attempt that came to mind) but now, she is much further along in her training, and he trusts her to do it on her own.

"I always forget the wolfsbane," Regina mutters, as she finishes with the potion.

"I don't see why," Rumplestiltskin offers, without bothering to look up from his spinning. "You've made the sleeping potion a hundred times now. You ought to have it memorized."

Regina has indeed made the sleeping potion more times than she can count. She regularly doses her husband's drinks with it. She has to be careful – too much, and he's like to be out for days – but just enough, and he's sure to fall into a sound sleep each night, a slumber so deep that he won't even think to touch her. The occasions on which Leopold takes his marital privileges with her are rare enough, but they're still too often for Regina's taste, and short of murder, this is the best solution.

"You _could _just kill him, I suppose," her teacher had commented, when she'd come to him with the problem.

"No," Regina had said firmly.

"Why not? Because your conscience would bother you?"

"No, because if I did it now, it would still look too suspicious."

Rumplestiltskin had giggled. "That's my clever wicked one. So, the sleeping potion it is then," he had said, and he'd showed her how to make it. It was nowhere near as powerful as the sleeping curse that he claimed Maleficent had, but it served its purpose quite well.

"I suppose I do have it memorized," she replies to him now.

"Then why do you still forget the wolfsbane?"

"I don't know."

The wheel stops spinning, and he looks up at her. "Are you sure you don't know why?"

She gives him that wide-eyed look of hers, the one that somehow still makes her look innocent, despite all the wicked things he knows she's done.

That he's had her do.

He gets up and walks towards where she stands, still clutching the scroll. "What's holding you back?"

When she doesn't answer, he plucks the scroll from her hand.

"Close your eyes," he commands her. For a moment, she looks like she wants to argue, but then she takes a deep breath, and does as he says.

He stands behind her, not touching her, but close enough that she can feel his breath on her neck.

"You know the ingredients, Regina. You know the steps." His fingers brush her collarbone, and she shivers slightly. "Trust yourself," he whispers in her ear.

"I …"

"The ingredients, Regina. List them."

"Hemlock, datura, asphodel, wormwood, and woflsbane."

"Very good." He nuzzles her neck. "And now the steps."

"The hemlock has to be crushed first…" He wraps his arms around her waist, and Regina leans back into his embrace with a contented sigh. "And then you mix it with the datura and put them both over the flames, but only for a moment."

"Only for a moment," he agrees. "You want to get them hot, but not enough to burn." His lips find that particular sensitive spot, just behind her ear, and Regina lets out a little gasp.

"Rumple …"

"The next step," he prompts her. "You know it."

"The ah … asphodel and the wormwood are chopped up into little pieces, and mixed in with the other two …"

His hands are moving from her waist now. One reaches up to cup her breast, feeling her nipple harden through the fabric, while the other is making its way further south.

"Go on," he urges her.

"And … and … the wolfsbane is last and … oh gods …"

He's slipped a hand inside her pants, finding her wet and slick with arousal, and he begins to stroke her. Regina moans and staggers back against him, turning her face to his.

"Kiss me …"

His fingers slow, and Regina whimpers in protest. "Not yet. The last step, my wicked one. The wolfsbane."

"You … you sprinkle it over the mixture, just a light dusting, and then … the fire again … heat but don't burn, and let it sit, just for a moment, and then … it's ready… Rumple …!"

"Good, very good," he whispers huskily, as his hand increases its pace. "You see, you _do_ know it well … even when you're … distracted … "

Regina's tart reply is cut short by his kiss, a kiss that is broken off with her gasping, as he continues his ministrations. His lips devour her heated skin as she pants helplessly, her body tense and taut in his embrace.

"Come for me," he whispers in her ear, and she, ever the obedient student, cries out his name and does as he says.

Regina collapses against him. She would sink to the floor, she thinks, if he wasn't holding her up. In time, she turns in his arms, so that she can kiss him properly, and after long moments of hungrily capturing and re-capturing each other's mouths, he lifts her up and sits her on the table, and they proceed to quickly remove any clothing that would impede their further enjoyment of each other.

Of course, a few vials of something-or-other are knocked to floor and break during the process, but somehow, Rumplestiltskin can't bring himself to mind.

Regina never forgets the wolfsbane again, not after that. Of course, as a consequence, there are a few _other_ things seared into her mind as well.

And those memories will remain, even when she is no longer his student, no longer his lover, even when the recollections are tinged with bitterness and shame and regret for both of them.

Because as much as they might like to erase what went before, as much as they might like to pretend none of it ever happened, they made these memories together.

And there is no magic, in this world or any other, that is strong enough to unmake that shared history, to undo all the passion and the pain that passed between them.


End file.
